


Grantaire Has No Secret Talent (Except He Does)

by AbschaumNo1



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff and Crack, Grantaire has many skills, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, M/M, What am I even doing with my life?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbschaumNo1/pseuds/AbschaumNo1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Enjolras discovered something he didn't know Grantaire could do and one time Grantaire discovered something he didn't know Enjolras could do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grantaire Has No Secret Talent (Except He Does)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://abschaumno1.tumblr.com/post/52621246290/attackofthechewenod-grantaire-would-be-the-most) post on Tumblr.  
> It is possible that Karima was involved, too...

The first time it happened Enjolras was merely surprised. He knew that Grantaire was not as untalented as he always said, he knew how intelligent the cynic was, he knew how well he could draw. But he had no idea how many hidden talents he actually possessed.

It was ridiculous, really, the way he found out, just as the actual talent was kind of ridiculous. It was a warm summer evening and they were on their way back to the house they spent their holidays in, a nice building in Trouville-sur-Mer that belonged to Enjolras’ parents. They had decided to spend their summer somewhere abroad, a chance Enjolras and his friends had immediately seized. They had been out that evening for a drink or two, in one of the bars by the river, and had chosen to walk along the esplanade. Enjolras could see Grantaire laughing where he was walking beside Feuilly at the front of the group, before their friend stopped from one moment to the other just to get in a handstand and walk on his hands. He got down again when Courfeyrac let out a whoop and Joly laughed with delight, and took a bow, breaking into a wide grin, a seldom glint of happiness in his eyes. And just maybe it made Enjolras’ stomach flutter just a little bit.

(“Where did you learn that?” Courfeyrac asked later.

“I taught myself when I was bored during my summer holidays. At least it gave me something to do,” Grantaire replied with an easy smile.)

* * *

 

The next time it happened they were in the backroom of the Musain, back in Paris. They had no meeting that day, but they liked to hang out there anyways.

Enjolras was just talking to Combeferre when he heard Marius saying, “Yes, but I’m merely a lost puppy.” He wouldn’t even have reacted if he had not looked directly at Marius and was absolutely sure that there was no way he could have said anything at that precise moment. Marius looked as bewildered as Enjolras felt.

“Surely you wouldn’t leave me out on the street in the rain,” Not-Marius went on, and Enjolras could see Marius blush under his freckles, just as Courfeyrac began to howl with laughter. Looking over to where he sat Enjolras could see Grantaire grin with satisfaction.

“Oh god, R, that was spot on!” Courfeyrac managed to press out between fits of laughter.

“Can you do anyone else?” Bahorel asked grinning.

“Sure. Who do you wanna hear?” Grantaire asked.

“Do Enjolras!” Bahorel’s grin was wolfish.

From across the room Enjolras could see Grantaire hesitate. Their eyes met and maybe there was the slightest challenge in the quirk of Enjolras’ eyebrow. Grantaire gulped down the rest of his beer and smirked at Enjolras before he began to speak.

He was good; Enjolras had to admit as much, and while what he said was entirely ridiculous, his arguments were as good as Enjolras was used to. If it had not been for the fact that he watched Grantaire talking, he would almost have believed that he listened to a record of himself speaking.

Enjolras shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh to hide his own amusement. If Combeferre’s slight smile was anything to go by it didn’t fool anyone.

(Later Enjolras would send Grantaire a text.

_That was a good impression; you should work on your arguments though. – E_

_Well, how about you help me with that? ;) – R_

_Whenever you feel like it. – E_ )

* * *

 

They were on one of their early dates when it happened the next time. They had been to a nice little café that Jehan had recommended and now they were walking along the Seine, soaking up the afternoon sun. Enjolras was just trying to explain to Grantaire why exactly change would happen sooner or later when an obviously quite nervous man interrupted him.

“Excuse me,” he began in heavily accentuated French (probably a Spanish accent, Enjolras thought), “but how do I get to…eh…Montmartre?"

“¿Hablas español?” Grantaire asked in lieu of a reply and when the man nodded gratefully, he launched into an explanation in rapid Spanish. When he had sent the man off and turned back to Enjolras he raised an eyebrow at his expression.

“What?” he asked and Enjolras scoffed.

“You never told me you could speak Spanish.” Enjolras started walking again, pace brisk and shoulders squared.

“Well, you never asked.”

“Any more languages you speak that I should know about?”

Grantaire thought about that for a moment.

“Well, I also speak English, but who doesn’t these days; my Italian is probably a bit rusty; I’ve been told I speak fairly good German, and well, so Latin and ancient Greek count?”

Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire, we really have to talk about your self-perception. You are far from giving yourself enough credit, considering how talented you are.”

Grantaire only smiled at him with the slightest hint of cynism in his eyes.

(If Grantaire actually started to put his talent for languages to use it was not worth mentioning. The smile and the kiss he got from Enjolras when he corrected Jehan’s use of Italian for the first time, and the poet’s delighted “I didn’t know you speak Italian, R!” were enough for him.)

* * *

 

Enjolras had found out quite early into their relationship that Grantaire could sing. The artist would do it all the time if he was in a good mood. The first time he had heard it had been after Grantaire had spent the first night at Enjolras’ apartment. They had spent a lazy morning in bed until their bodies had betrayed them and demanded food. Grantaire had laughed and kissed Enjolras quickly before slipping out of bed.

“You stay here or take a shower or something. I’ll make breakfast.”

Enjolras had tried to protest and was about to say that Grantaire was his guest and he really shouldn’t have to do anything, but his boyfriend had grinned and shook his head.

“No, you can’t stop me,” he had said and vanished through the door.

When Enjolras emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later he was greeted by the smell of scrambled eggs and coffee, and the sound of Grantaire singing. He couldn’t quite make out the words, not to mention the song, but even he could hear that it was very good. Still only with a towel wrapped around his hips he tapped over to Grantaire and wrapped his arms around him.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he said and pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s neck.

“Well, now you know,” he replied easily, his grin obvious in his voice.

The thing about Grantaire’s singing was that it was a habit of his to sing whenever he could, and while Enjolras liked it, it could get on his nerves sometimes. It was mostly in moments when he was snappish anyways and he couldn’t always stop himself from telling Grantaire that he should just shut up. They had fought about it once or twice, but in the end they had always made up and Grantaire continued to sing.

(Enjolras’ favourite occasions were when they were cuddling on the sofa and he was reading while Grantaire sung softly into his curls. It was distracting and he did at least try to scowl when it happened, but in reality he just felt content and happy.)

* * *

 

They were already living together when Enjolras walked into the living room one day to find Grantaire sitting on the couch and knitting. He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Knitting?”

“It is always good to be able to provide yourself with warm clothing, even if it’s just socks and scarves,” Grantaire replied with a serious expression on his face, “Also wool socks can be pretty practical in winter.”

“Okay, do I want to hear the story behind that one?” Enjolras asked with a sigh as he let himself fall onto the couch next to his partner.

“I don’t know. Do you want to hear an interesting tale of how I went on a quest to regain a lost kingdom, with lots of fights? Because that wouldn’t be this tale.”

Enjolras simply sighed and rested his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, which provoked a soft laugh from the other man.

“If you really want to know: My mother always knitted and when I was really bored I asked her to teach me. She was surprised when I asked, but it made her happy and in the end I had acquired a new skill that can come in handy and she had something to take her mind off the not so nice parts of our lives.”

They were silent for a moment, the only sound in the room the clicking of the needles in Grantaire’s hands.

“So who are these for?” Enjolras asked finally.

“They are a present for Jehan. He seemed the type to appreciate self-knit socks.”

“Well, that certainly explains the colours.”

 Enjolras smiled and as he watched Grantaire’s fingers at work he thought that it certainly wasn’t the weirdest skill Grantaire possessed.

(Jehan was utterly excited when he received the socks. Apparently Grantaire had found the perfect present for him.

Bahorel only stopped teasing Grantaire when he received a really warm and soft scarf for Christmas that year.)

* * *

 

It was at a party that Grantaire found out about a skill he didn’t know Enjolras possessed.

A slightly tipsy Courfeyrac had proposed a game of Truth or Dare and in an attempt to escape whatever particularly embarrassing question Courfeyrac would come up with, Enjolras had picked dare. He knew that he was fucked when he saw the glint in his friend’s eyes.

“I dare you to clap with one hand.”

“Really, Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asked with an arched eyebrow. “Of all the things you could ask me to do it is this?”

“Yes.” Courfeyrac grinned wide.

Enjolras let out a sigh, raised a hand and clapped with it.

It was needless to say that his friends howled with laughter.

(Later Grantaire would tell him that he quite liked it.

“After all,” he said, “you could theoretically make corrections in a speech while clapping for another speaker.”

Enjolras only snorted with his nose buried against Grantaire’s collarbone.)


End file.
